


The Case of the Girl Who Came Through the Wall

by friendly_muttonchops



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:14:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_muttonchops/pseuds/friendly_muttonchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are working a local ghost case when a mysterious girl appears, claiming that she's from the world of Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. Who sent her, how did she get there, and can they return her to her universe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the characters or anything else. Only the story. Also, I might reference some bands here, and I do not own them nor am I responsible for them. That is all.

Joy and sorrow are each one side of the same coin. The Winchesters' luck has been rather one sided for the majority of their lives; all or mostly pain and sorrow. Perhaps fate will allow something, or someone, joyful to tumble into their lives.

* * *

In the bunker, the brothers were researching a local ghost case. The residence in question was only 20 minutes or so away from the bunker, so they decided to remain there as long as possible. Yesterday, a middle-aged woman named Mabel Benson had turned up strangled to death in her apartment, her door locked, no sign of a forced entry and no possessions missing. Two days prior to Mabel's death, one Mr. Arnold Harkowitz, an ex-marine with an incredible temper, was also found dead in his apartment with the same cause of death as Mabel, and the apartment in the same state.

* * *

They sat at the rectangular table, four of the six chairs remaining empty. Sam was completely engrossed in his laptop, skimming lists of the residents at the Honey Lake Apartment Complex and searching for connections.

"So get this...turns out Mable was in the same apartment building as Mr. Anger Management. Ghost could be haunting the building. You get anything on a bloody history?" Sam asked, buried in his research. Dean was sitting across from him with his brown leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. He was also immersed in his work, and grunted in response.

"Nada. Zip. Zilch. History's clean." Sam's face fell into a disappointed scowl. Dean attempted to restore hope by suggesting other options.

"Ghost might be with furniture or clothing somebody brought in...Maybe Mabel was just a bystander who got in the way?"

"Maybe. But, there's probably more than 300 chairs, old coat racks and tables in that building... any one of those could house a spirit. There's no way we can pinpoint which just by blind luck, and it'd take forever to get the history on everything too..."

"So what, wait for another victim?" Dean said, becoming exasperated. Sam waited a minute before answering.

"The way I see it, we don't really have a choice here. There's nothing we can do but wait." Dean stood from his seat at the table, stretching his legs.

"Well, I'm not just going to sit around then. I'll talk to Mabel's husband again to-" Just then, Dean was cut off by a loud crash coming from somewhere behind and to the left of Dean, away from the door of the bunker. Immediately, Sam jumped up and Dean grabbed his gun that was lying on the table. Silently, Dean motioned for Sam to stay put while he investigated the commotion. He walked up to the hall, ready to leap around the corner and ambush the enemy. Dean cocked his gun, and leapt out to meet the un-identified foe. He was faced with.... a footstool. Sam, awaiting the sound of a struggle, was confused when he heard a simple 'What the hell?' He walked over to the hallway, clearing the floor space in a few strides. He poked his head around the corner, seeing Dean standing with his back to him. His head was down, staring at something on the ground. This position blocked Sam's view of the item of interest.

"Dean?" He asked nervously.

"Come here Sammy, you'll wanna see this." Dean responded, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Sam, even more confused now, edged into the hall. Dean shifted out of the way, clearing the view for Sam to see the peculiar object. The footstool looked to be around two feet in diameter, with three wooden legs holding it upright. It was made of rich chocolate-brown wood, with a circular cushion on top. The cushion was made of an elegant brown and blue fabric, stuffed with feathers to the point of bursting.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Yea, Sammy?"

"What's with the redecorating?" Dean shot him a look saying _dude this is serious, cut the jokes_ and Sam complied.

"Okay, footstool in our bunker. How do ya think it got here?" Dean shrugged, baffled. Sam reached down to pick it up, and Dean hissed a curt 'careful'. Sam grunted in reply, and hoisted the stool into his arms.

"Uh, the Enterprise beamed it down? I've got no clue." Dean said, bewildered. They both inspected the intruder, and found that it was rather plain; just an ordinary footstool.

"Well, probably best to keep an eye on it until we can make heads or tails of... Whatever's going on." Sam agreed, and carried the figure over to the table, where he placed it in the middle.

"Well, back to ghosts then." Sam said, staring at the stool. Dean shrugged.

"So... I'm gonna talk to Mabel's husband again and see if he has any more information... He seemed a little shifty last time anyways."

"Yeah, okay. I'll stay here and see if I can dig up anything about the building or the people living there." Dean turned to leave and just as he lifted his coat off the chair, another crash resonated around the bunker, coming from the same hallway.

"Again?!" Dean yelled, annoyed.

"Sonofa-" a voice said, echoing down the corridor. The boys exchanged glances, and Dean motioned for his brother to follow. They crept up like before, both hearing shuffling noises from around the corner. The Winchesters cocked their guns, and rushed out to discover the origin of the noise. In the middle of the hallway, stood a dazed and alarmed teenage girl, staring at the wall of the corridor. She wore dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, partially covered by a black leather jacket. Black combat boots cloaked her ankles and a knot of brown hair was tied into a bun behind her head. She had high cheekbones and green-blue eyes which were wide in confusion and surprise. She turned quickly once she saw the boys enter the hall.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded in a harsh tone, gun raised. The girl's face softened into something along the lines of happy disbelief. Dean noticed the change and assumed the intruder, probably a witch or demon, was pleased by her company.

"Wait, you! You're...oh my god. What?!" Her countenance quickly changed to one of glee. It seemed she only then noticed the gun and her expression turned to one of annoyance with a hint of fear.

"Yeah, I'm sure you know all about us," Dean said with a sneer, "Let's see... Demon or witch?"

The girl sighed and replied, "Well, I was going to ask Jensen or Dean, but it appears you've just answered that question." Sam and Dean both looked confused at the name, but they had no time to question her.

"Guys, what the hell am I doing in your bunker? Summoning spell gone wrong?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing." Sam piped up. Dean nodded, realizing that she had no intentions of being here.

"But you still didn't answer my question. Who, or what, are you?" The girl nodded, her face still, remarkably, conveying a feeling of joy. "First let’s put the, uh, artillery away, shall we?" She said, raising her hands to show surrender.

"Not ‘til you give us some answers." She nodded.

"Not a demon, witch, shifter, etc. Just a girl." She raised her eyebrows at the guns still aimed at her chest, silently asking for them to lower. They complied, lowering their guns but leaving them cocked. She let her hands fall back to her sides, making the leather jacket squeak.

"Better. My name's Amy. You're Sam and Dean, yea?" She said, appearing to fight an impulse to giggle with glee. The brothers nodded, even more baffled than when the footstool came from... Wherever it came from.

"You a hunter?" Sam asked. Why else would she know them, unless she somehow kept up with their old criminal records? Amy scratched her head, as if in deep thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was cautious and slow.

"Listen guys, this is gonna sound pretty crazy."

"Oh, well crazy is right up our alley." Dean said stoically. Amy sniggered and replied.

"Touché. Well, here goes. You remember that one time Cas sent you into that parallel world?" Dean became even more puzzled; she knew Cas too?

"Might have to be more specific."

"Life was a TV show?” she motioned to Dean, “You were Jensen Ackles," she motioned to Sam, "you were Jared Padalecki, Cas was Misha Collins, director Robert Singer, executive producer-" Dean cut her off, bewilderment seeping into his usually even tone.

"Yeah, rings a bell. Why? And how'd you know that?" Dean said, still wary of their visitor.

"That's where I'm from. That's my universe." She said, rocking on her toes, nervously awaiting their reaction. The brothers tried to absorb the news.

"Give us a sec, will you?" Sam asked, and Amy nodded. Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him a small distance back the way they came in an attempt to get out of earshot of Amy. They positioned themselves with their backs to her, providing maximum privacy.

“You believe her? I mean, yeah, I guess Cas could swing something like that, sending people between universes, but that’s about it. I don’t think there’s any other creatures or monsters that can pull a stunt like that. Unless it’s something we haven't seen before.” Sam said, glancing over his shoulder to size up Amy. She was looking around at her surroundings, particularly interested in the scenery behind the Winchesters, the table where they were sitting moments ago.

“You think an angel sent her? Wait, is she an angel? Maybe she was sent out undercover. Or maybe she’s like Anna, she fell from upstairs and doesn't remember anything?” Dean questioned, saying his train of thought out loud, his face becoming more serious with every enigma he faced.

“Well, let’s play along for now then we can see what she knows.” Sam suggested, and Dean nodded. Synchronically, they turned and sauntered back towards Amy. She folded her arms with a squeak of the jacket, and raised her eyebrows. Her body language allowed her to ask the brothers their thoughts without ever uttering a word. Her stance radiated confidence and dominance, enough to give the brothers a run for their money, but in a lighthearted way. She emitted a peculiar feeling of security, and Dean felt himself relax despite his intents of being stolid and menacing.

Sam was the first to speak, “So, you’re from the place where this,” he gestured to his surroundings, “is a TV show, right?” Amy nodded.

“Very popular one, in fact. Gained ratings since you two visited. I’m a huge fan, so this is like… whoa. I’m still getting over the whole fact that this is all real, and I'm smack in the middle of all the action.” she said. A thought entered her mind, and she shared it with the others.

"You know, this is kind like something Gabriel would do... I mean, he had you two in a bunch of TV shows before the apocalypse, right? So why not me? You think it's him?" Sam and Dean hadn't considered that before.

"Sorry if this is news, but he's dead. Ganked by Lucifer himself." Dean said, thinking he finally found something she didn't know. His sense of accomplishment was quickly quenched when Amy rolled her eyes.

"I know, but it's not exactly the first time he's tricked you into thinking he's dead. You kinda ruined his life, exposing him and all. You ever think he faked it to get back to all his Trickster business and stuff?" Dean faltered, and Sam stepped in.

"Actually, that might be possible. But he sent us a message via porno and everything, so it'd be a really great fake. To me it looked like the real deal." Amy considered that for a moment, deciding to let the discussion cease.

"Well, only way to know is if we see him, so best not dwell on it. And it looks like I'm not exactly going back anytime soon, so..." She tapped the wall.

"That how you got here?" Sam asked, walking over to where she stood.

"I guess. I remember falling out of something and there's no doors around, so must be. Unless there happens to be a handy-dandy little trapdoor here?" She asked, already anticipating the answer.

"Nope. None that we've found." Sam pressed his hand to the wall, looking for any sign of unusual activity or any give in the cement. He found none, just an ordinary, blank wall. Dean walked over, performing his own tests.

"Hang on, what's that?" He said, bending down the peer at a kink in the paint. He traced his hand across the chip, and lowered his face to study it. When he straightened up, he had a somber look on his face.

"Summoning sigil. I'm guessing you," he pointed at Amy, "have one just like it at... Wherever you came from." Sam bent down in the same position Dean was moments ago and gazed at the scratch. He pressed his face closer and realized it wasn't a chip, but a tiny, intricately carved symbol. He recognized it as a summoning sigil.

"Yep," he said, standing, "you're gonna be here awhile. Spell must be reversed by the person who cast it, so unless we find him, you're stuck here."

"Oh. Well," she said, walking out of the hall into the main room with the table, "home sweet home then." She looked up at the high-ceilings, and allowed her eyes to wander around the bunker, exploring various alcoves and hallways with her aqua eyes. She plopped down in one of the chairs, leaving a space between her and Dean who also took a seat. Sam gracefully perched himself on his chair.

“The famous bunker.” she said, still discovering each crack and crevice visible from her seat. She lowered her eyes to the table, to find the mysterious footstool. “Hang on, that’s mine! From my living room!” she exclaimed, pointing to the small piece of furniture. Sam nodded, putting the pieces together.

“That makes sense… we found it a minute before you came through. Probably a side effect from the spell, like it just kinda sucks in everything around it, including this and you.” Amy and Dean nodded, and she only just noticed the mess of books and papers strewn about under the stool.

“Oh, you guys working a case?” she asked curiously, eagerness in her voice. She folded her arms, which seemed to be a default position for her. Sam nodded.

“Ghosts.” He said curtly.

“Do tell.” Amy said, leaning back. Sam seemed reluctant, and decided to spare her the details of the murders. Amy couldn’t be more than, what, sixteen? However, just as Sam was about to tell her the results of their research, Dean cut in.

“Amy, what do you know about angels?” Amy shrugged.

“Dicks, for one. Except Cas. He’s cool,” She decided, “Michael’s vessel, Lucifer’s vessel,” she said pointing at the brothers in turn, “lots of civil war type stuff going on up in Heaven, angels need permission to enter a vessel, they can’t cross a line of holy fire, immune to most weapons except angel blades, etc.” she concluded. The boys quickly extinguished their idea of Amy being an angel; she either wouldn’t know or share all that with them. Dean decided to dig deeper.

“How much do you know about us?” he asked, staring her down with a famous Dean Winchester glare. She sat up, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her folded hands.

“Well there’s the stuff in the show like major events and love interests, and then… other stuff.” She said, choosing her words carefully.

“What kind of other stuff?” Sam asked.

“Um, there’s stuff the fandom comes up with, you know like headcanons and ships and stuff.” She saw the confused looks decorating both the Winchester’s faces, and rolled her eyes.

“Fandom: collective of people that like a subject, in this case Supernatural. Headcanon: a storyline somebody beside the writers of the show think of to elaborate on a certain topic in the show or fill a missing span of time. Ship: pairing of two or more characters.” Sam nodded his understanding, but Dean looked petrified.

“Wait, pairing as in…” he meshed his fingers together in a highly suggestive manor, “pairing? Like, relationship?” Amy nodded, slightly amused at is reaction.

“Are there any with me in them?” he asked, slightly urgent and very nervous of the answer.

“Oh yeah, loads. Primarily there’s Destiel, which is Dean and Cas, my personal favorite. There’s also Dean and Benny, Dean and Kevin, Dean and Joe, and Wincest, which is nasty.” Dean’s face grew more petrified and disgusted with each ship. Sam’s, on the other hand, grew more amused.

“Jeez, you people need to get a life… and a boyfriend.” He said, attempting to shake off the traumatizing images in his head. “Oh, says the man who spotted fake Dr. Sexy because of his shoes.” Amy fired back, looking content. Sam let out an abrupt laugh, only to be cut short by a murderous glare from Dean.

“Okay, let’s hear the, uh, ships for Sammy here.” Dean requested, attempting to gather ammo for future need against Sam.

“Well, there’s Wincest, like I mentioned earlier. That’s Dean and Sam by the way. Again, nasty. But there’s Sam and Gabriel, the big dog, Sam and Lucifer, Sam and Cas, Sam and Kevin. Oh, and a threesome between Sam, Cas and Dean.” By now Sam looked equally as horrified as Dean, and it was Amy’s turn to snigger. Judging by how they took the news, she decided not to tell them about fanart and fanfiction. At least not yet.

“I need a beer.” Dean said as he stood, his chair screeching on the floor. Amy leaned back in her chair once more.

“So, ghost case. Gimme the details.” She implored. Sam physically shook off the former topic, and gathered a few news clippings and papers from the pile scattered across the table top. He handed them to her, and briefly summarized the events of the past days.

“This guy Arnold Harkowitz,” he pointed to a black and white photo in a newspaper, “was murdered in his apartment three days ago. Locked door, no forced entry, nothing missing, etc. Yesterday, this chick Mable Benson,” he pointed to a different picture, “was murdered in her apartment, same way, same circumstances; nothing missing, locked door, etc. Lived in the same building.”

“History of the apartment?” she asked without lifting her eyes from the pictures. Sam looked surprised and answered.

“Clean. No deaths, murders, suicides, etc.” Amy finished examining the pictures and lifted her gaze to meet Sam’s.

“How ‘bout the victims, they know each other? Is it possible they committed a murder together or something and he wants revenge?” Sam’s respect for Amy was growing with every sentence. He shook his head.

“Other than sharing the building, they didn't have any connections; no mutual friends, high school, church groups, nothing.” Sam concluded. Dean walked back to join them, an open bottle of beer in his hand. He swung his chair around, sitting with his legs spread and the back pressed against his stomach. Amy placed the papers back on the table and folded her arms once again.

“What’re you guys going with? What’s the spirit drawn to?” Sam exchanged a quick glance with Dean and they mutually agreed that Amy wasn’t half bad. “Now we’re thinking it might be attached to an item in the building, like an heirloom or an old chair or something.” Amy nodded, furrowing her brow.

“Who've you talked to? Anybody got a spouse or neighbors?” Dean looked impressed at the extent of Amy’s knowledge on standard procedure. “Well, Mable’s got a husband who I’ve talked to before, but he seemed kinda suspicious. Actually I was just gonna go try to get more info from him, but then you dropped by.” Dean said. Amy nodded. “Hey, where’s your bathroom?” She asked, standing. Sam pointed and gave directions. She nodded her thanks and departed. As soon as she was out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam.

“What do you think?” He asked, leaning closer. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion and Dean rolled his eyes and clarified.

“About Amy? Think we should trust her?” “Well she certainly knows a lot about us, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, shouldn't she if she’s a fan of the show?” Dean nodded reluctantly, secretly hoping the whole shipping thing was a ruse to get on his nerves.

“Actually, I think she’s pretty cool. You know Dean, she might be able to help us with the case. She’s practically got our methods memorized, so she can be useful.” Dean, again, nodded reluctantly. Working with a kid? Kevin is one thing but… with that thought came a pang of guilt and sadness. He was just a kid too. He shook the thought away, and decided he didn’t want to condemn Amy to death by letting her tag along.

“No. She’s too young, I don’t want any more blood on my hands. Especially not hers.” Dean said, his deep voice grave and sincere.

“Yeah she’s young, but remember she watched the show. She’s got common sense Dean, and she probably picked some ‘what-not-to-do’ tips. Anyways, she’s gotta stay here until we find who sent her. They must want her here for some reason, and I doubt it’s to swap muffin recipes. This is the safest place for her to be.” Dean agreed. Amy reappeared and took her seat.

“So,” Dean said, clasping his hands together, “I’m gonna talk to Mr. Benson again. Sam, watch the kid.” This remark was met with a double-bitchface from both Amy and Sam. Dean stared at the synchronized facial expressions for a second, slightly out of awe and slightly out of annoyance. Then he stood, grabbed his coat and headed up the stairs to the door. Amy watched him go, and Sam returned to his research. Amy was silent and still for a moment, and glanced at a watch that was hidden beneath her jacket. The time read 12:36. Half-past noon.

“Are you hungry?” she asked suddenly, and Sam looked up. “Uh, yeah I guess…?” He said, confused.

“Where’s your kitchen?” She asked. Sam, still befuddled, pointed down a long, brightly lit corridor and told her to take the first left. She nodded and thanked him. Sam quickly disregarded the request, focusing once again on the case. Within minutes, the bunker filled with pleasant and luscious aromas. After about fifteen minutes, Amy returned holding a plate and utensils. Sam looked up, and was slightly taken aback. She placed a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, ham, and toast. Sam stared at the plate for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“Bon appetit,” she said, smiling and sitting down.

“Wow. You didn’t have to-” Sam started. Amy shook her head.

“Nah. Cooking is kind of my... hobby, escape, passion, call it what you will. It’s just what I do.” She put simply. Sam nodded, still faintly stunned. He dragged the plate towards him, and picked up the fork. He scooped up a decent amount of eggs, and plopped it in his mouth, aware that his every move was being watched by Amy. He was met with a harmonious combination of hearty flavors, perfect seasoning, and light yet buttery eggs. He chewed and swallowed, savoring every second.

“This is delicious,” he stated enthusiastically, in awe. Amy glowed with pride.

“Glad you like them,” she said, smiling.

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Sam found no new leads, and Dean’s interrogation yielded no new information. Amy was given a spare bedroom down the hall from the boys’ and they all shared a dinner scraped together from the meagerly stocked kitchen the Winchesters kept. That night, everybody in the bunker felt an odd sense of comfort and happiness despite the frustrating ghost case and the mystery behind Amy’s appearance.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Amy continue to work on their case, as well as hunt the thing that brought Amy there, whatever it is. They make a few startling discoveries along the way.

* * *

Dean woke up slowly. First was the smell. Like fresh bread, only sweeter. The aroma wafted down the hall, twisting and turning, filling every crevice. It made its way into his room, mocking him and pulling him towards consciousness. Next came the cold; biting at him and surrounding him with its frigid grasp. He wrapped himself tighter in his cocoon of blankets, attempting to drift back to sleep. But the smell was so heavenly... his stomach growled, pleading for him to allow it to taste whatever caused a smell so wonderful. He gave up. Sitting up, he stretched his arms and legs, joints popping and cracking. He stood up, quickly threw sheets together and made his bed semi haphazardly. Eager to find the source of the smell, he pulled on a pair of jeans and plaid button up over his T-shirt, not even bothering to button it. He stepped into the hallway, letting his nose guide him to the kitchen.

There stood Amy, attention focused on the stove and a pan perched on top of it, filled with a circle of tan ooze that was bubbling slightly. Beside her sat a silver bowl Dean didn't even know they had filled with a substance the color of sunscreen that he assumed to be batter. On her other side was a platter stacked with about three or four already finished pancakes. As he walked up, Amy glanced over, only wavering her focus on the griddle for a second.

"Wondering when you'd get up, it's almost 9:00," she said cheerily, flipping the pancake over, hiding the liquid-y surface and revealing a steamy, golden jewel on the other side. The newly flipped pancake released a volley of new smells, all fighting for Dean's attention.

"Sam up yet?" He asked, slightly surprised his brother wasn't already feasting.

"Nah. Must've had a tough night? Research wise I mean...?" She suggested, waiting for Dean to confirm or correct her.

"Yep. This case is..." He faltered, chuckling slightly, "it's something else. Must've stayed up till around 5:00." Amy nodded sympathetically. She fished out the cooked pancake with a quick shove of her spatula and flopped it down on the stack, like a totem pole of deliciousness. Just the sight of them made Dean's mouth water.

"Pancakes?" She offered, seeing his hungry face. She predicted his answer, already scouring the cupboards to find a plate. Dean stood, determined to help her find the correct door.

"Here..." He said, walking to one to the right of her. He opened it, and extracted three plates.

"Silverware? Oh hold up, that one I know..." She said, heading for a drawer at waist height. Apparently she'd already found it on her quest to find pancake making supplies. Together they cleared a space on the cluttered table, shoving books and papers to the side. She gingerly placed the stack of six pancakes in the center, Dean putting plates, forks, and knives all around.

"He better hurry, they'll get cold." She said, eyeing her creations protectively. Dean sighed and mumbled,

"I'll get 'im." He watched the pancakes for a second, reluctant to leave them behind. They were golden and fluffy, steam curling lazily above them. They looked so delicious, sitting on the platter like that. Maybe just one first...

"Dean." Amy said, jerking him back into reality. He realized he still hadn't moved.

"Right. I’ll go, uh, okay." He said, quickly turning away, embarrassment creeping into his composure. He shook it off, walking over to Sam's room.

* * *

 Sam was sleeping peacefully, blankets half covering his torso. He was brutally jerked from his slumber by a knock on the door.

"Sammy? Get up," a voice said. He grunted. "C'mon Sammy." It said again. Why couldn't it just go away and let him sleep?

"No. Go away." He managed to groan, sleep slurring his words.

"You brought this upon yourself." The voice said, and the door opened, shining in a blinding light to Sam's eyes. The light was blocked momentarily by a dark figure. Sam tugged the covers over his eyes, providing slight cover from the light. All was quiet for a moment, only hearing the soft squeak of feet on floorboards. Suddenly, felt a crushing weight on top of him and heard the faint squeak of bed springs. He felt the outline of a body lying on top of him, arms splayed to the side.

“Get up Sammy,” Dean said practically into his ear, his voice strong with a hint of amusement.

“Dean, what the hell! Get off.” Sam said, startled by the sudden bulk, and very annoyed.

“Only if you get up.” He replied. Sam groaned.

“Fine.” Dean rolled off the bed, taking the sheets with him. Sam, however, remained on the mattress, eyes closed tight.

“C’mon Sam, get up.” Dean sighed, exasperated. Sam refused, so he decided to break out the big guns.

“She made pancakes.” With that remark, Sam opened his eyes, and jerked awake, sitting up in a flash of cotton pajamas.

“You could’ve lead with that, y’know.” He grumbled, rushing around to dress himself and make his bed. Dean grinned to himself as he exited the room. He hurried back to the kitchen, eager to feast upon the lovely breakfast awaiting him. He reached the high ceilings of the room, to find Amy already picking out one pancake from the top of the stack and placing it on her plate.

"He's coming." Dean announced as he entered the room. She nodded her understanding, and sat down. Dean reached his chair and sat, eagerly selecting two pancakes from the dwindling stack. He flopped them down on his plate, one by one, and slathered a pat of butter over the top. In his rush to see if the pancakes tasted as good as they smelled, he realized he forgot a drink and stood.

"You want anything?" He asked Amy, noticing she too had neglected to select a drink.

"Happen to have anything non-alcoholic?" She asked, somewhat smarmily. Dean thought a moment.

"Well, got coffee. And I think Sam has some orange juice in here somewhere..." He said, disappearing into the kitchen. Amy followed, keen to see as much of the bunker as she could and curious as to what she would drink.

"OJs good then." She said as Dean grabbed a mug and a cup. He filled the glass with the orange liquid, and programmed the coffee maker to the desired settings. Just as Amy returned to the table, Sam stepped into the room.

“Morning, Sleepy. Doc is in the kitchen making coffee.” She said with a warm smile on her face. But somehow, the smile seemed hollow and fake, like she was using it as a curtain to hide her true feelings.

"Smells good," he observed, locating the source of the smell with his nose. She nodded, looking less enthusiastic about her food than the day before. She slumped, setting her glass on the table next to her. Her elbow made its way onto the wood, propping her head on her fist. She picked up a fork and began playing with her pancake, breaking it into increasingly smaller pieces. Her smile had faded, leaving her face forlorn and disheartened. Sam stood awkwardly by the table for a moment, then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed his own mug from the cabinet and set it down next to deans, waiting for the pot to finish.

Dean grinned like Cheshire Cat and said, "Sleep well?”

“So funny I forgot to laugh. Dean, I think you need to talk to Amy. She seems sad.” Sam said, leaning his forearm on the countertop.

“You talk to her.” Dean shot back, and Sam huffed an exasperated breath.

“Why won’t you do it? Is big ol’ Dean scared of a teenaged girl...?” He said in a mocking baby voice.

“Well, you can’t really blame her, I mean she’s separated from her entire family and might not be able to see them again if we can’t find whatever brought her here.” Dean fired back.

“Yeah. She could still use some Dean Therapy essions though…” Dean scowled and hesitated. Then he turned towards Sam with his hand balled into a fist. Sam scoffed, but made a fist as well. They raised and lowered their hands thrice, simultaneously. Then, on the third drop, they each formed different shapes with their hands. Sam threw paper, and Dean threw scissors. The second they had time to register the results, Dean groaned and Sam raised his arms in victory a grin plastered on his face.

“Rock beats scissors Dean. Go comfort her.” Sam gloated.

“But you’re supposed to be the sympathetic one here. You’d be better.” Dean suggested. Sam shook his head.

“Sorry dude, lost the game. Now go talk to Amy.” At that moment, Amy walked in carrying her empty glass. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Talk to me about what?” She said, placing her glass on the counter and freeing her arms. She crossed them and squinted her eyes suspiciously.

“Well, uh, you seemed kinda sad today. What’s up?” Dean asked innocently, glancing at Sam incase this went south. Amy stared at them both for a minute. When she spoke, all of her bottled up anger and frustration spilled out.

“Well, let’s see. I was just transported into a freaky-ass world with some really fucked up crap, leaving my friends and family whom I may never get to see again. I mean, everything is real in the television show that was literally created to SCARE PEOPLE. I am now living with the guys that all said crap is trying to kill. Again. Also, knowing your reputation, I am probably going to die in the next year, month, maybe even week. So yeah, excuse me for being a little bummed.” She finished. Her volume had increased throughout the outburst so by the end she was almost yelling. The brothers cringed and recoiled, regretting confronting her like that. She was panting slightly as she glowered at the brothers with her best death-glare. Her eyes stared into their souls with a gaze as hard as diamond and silently dared them to retaliate. Both boys looked like kicked puppies, betrayed and guilt-ridden. After a minute of silence, her steely gaze faltered and she stared at her shoes.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have snapped at you, it’s not your fault.” She said, allowing the brothers to relax slightly.

“No, it’s okay. If anybody’s got a right to vent, it’s you.” Sam said, phrasing his words cautiously in case she exploded again. She shook her head.

“Nah. Sulking around isn’t gonna do any good. If I want to see my family again, the best thing for me to do is hunt down that bastard.” She replied, determined.

“Damn straight.” Dean said, pleased she chose the path of action rather than wallowing in self-pity. Comforting is not his strong suit. But hunting, on the other hand… She nodded and opened the refrigerator and refilled her glass with orange juice.

“What’s the plan for today?” she asked with her attention trained on the carton of juice in her hand.

“Dean and I were thinking about visiting the crime scenes again to make sure we didn’t miss anything. Maybe the small stuff, like a missing necklace or something minor that people would overlook.”

“Sounds exciting,” Amy said sarcastically, “a truly exhilarating task fit for any thrill-seeker. I look forward to learning from the masters.” Sam and Dean exchanged glances. The lack of a reply caused Amy to look up.

“What?” She said. “Look Amy, I know you want to help out and do as much as you can. But it’s just that we don’t want you to get hurt, and there’s a big difference between watching a show and actually hunting.” Sam said, still wary of another outburst.

“I won’t get in the way. And I know how to use a gun, if the need arises.” She replied, setting the jug down with a hollow *clunk*.

“Still, it’s dangerous. If we ever end up catching the guy who summoned you here, I don’t want you to miss the opportunity ‘cause you decided to hunt and got hurt.” Sam said.

“But today you’re not even searching it out! You’re just going to be snooping in some lady’s apartment. Why can’t I help?” She said, determined to sway them.

“Because if we let you come this time, then soon you’ll want to come again and again. Then you’ll want to help fight it. And that’s not gonna happen.” Dean said, just as determined to break down her argument bit by bit.

“I told you, I just want to help. This is probably the only time in my life that I’m ever going to make a difference in somebody else’s, and I’d like to take advantage of it. If we find the guy who brought me here, I'll go back to a mediocre high school where I'll graduate, go to a mediocre college, work at a mediocre job and live a mediocre life. I just want to help.” She said. Dean still looked determined to discourage all thought of hunting from her mind, but Sam gave in.

“Okay. You can come.” He said, somewhat solemnly. Amy smiled and nodded her gratitude. Dean wheeled to face Sam.

“Sam! I thought we were trying to NOT kill any more innocent teenage girls?!” He said feeling betrayed.

“Dean, she says she can use a gun, she knows loads about our methods, were not even confronting the spirit today, she’ll be ok!” Sam rebutted.

“So? You and I both know anything can happen on a case like this where we’ve got close to nothing on why or how it’s here.” Dean fired back, less heatedly.

"We'll be with her! I mean, she's not gonna be alone like she would be here. We can protect her if we need to." Sam said. Amy cut in.

"Again, I CAN use a gun, so..." She said. The room was engulfed in silence for a moment. Sam added one final point.

“We don’t have to worry about her getting sucked into the lifestyle, if she gets back home it won’t be real.” Dean sighed, defeated.

"Alright, fine. But if you so much as scrape a knee, you’re coming right back here.” He said reluctantly. The corners of Amy’s mouth tugged upwards in a smile, despite her wishes to seem collected and resolved.

“Thank you.” She said to Dean and Sam. The former lowered his eyes to the ground, as if ashamed of his decision. Sam, on the other hand, smiled back at Amy. He knew she wanted more than what her normal life can give, and this might be the only chance she can get it. Although he and Dean both felt the exact opposite, Amy did not share this desire. Deep down, Dean and he longed for an apple pie life, with a normal job, friends, maybe even a family. The coffee maker finished its routine, and they all headed back to the table. Both Winchesters soon forgot the debate as the warmth and velvety goodness of Amy’s pancakes occupied all of their thoughts. Dean savored the taste and texture, in case he never ate anything as delicate and delicious again. Sam did the same, letting the bite melt on his tongue. Dean wished to complement her, but it seemed his vocabulary wasn’t profound enough to accurately describe the sensation he was experiencing. He settled on something simple.

“This is really good.” He said, stuffing his mouth with another colossal bite.

“You don’t need to say that every time…” Amy replied, blushing slightly. Dean could tell she was secretly glowing with pride at the compliment. They ate the rest of the meal quietly, only speaking to ask for the syrup or butter.

* * *

 After the meal, they all piled into Impala. Amy grinned as soon as she spotted the car, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows at Sam. She opened the left hand door to the back, holding her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. The brothers in turn opened their doors with a familiar creak, and ducked in. Sam had to bow his head to an almost impossible degree, as to not hit it on the well-cared-for frame. As soon as Dean took his seat he started the ignition and the engine roared to life with a low grumble. As soon as the car revved, music began to flood through the car. The speakers hummed out a Led Zeppelin song, and Amy started to tap her fingers to the notes. Dean pulled out onto the highway which was relatively desolate. The song reached its chorus, and the brothers could hear Amy singing under her breath in the background.

“Well, at least she’s got good tastes.” Dean mumbled to Sam. Sam scoffed.

“Likes old cars, old music and can cook? Yeah, you two are practically made for each other.”

“Dude, she’s like sixteen.” Dean said.

“Never said anything about dating. You guys can be besties.” With this comment Dean scowled and made a rude gesture with his hand.

“You do realize I’m right here…” Dean coughed awkwardly and returned his gaze to the road. Sam sniggered and looked out the window. Dean, much to Amy’s annoyance, felt the need to prepare her for any possible circumstance they might encounter at the apartment. He rambled about wiping prints, being walked in on, and meeting a ghost. Amy began to tune him out, occasionally nodding or agreeing to satisfy him. They reached the apartment after a little over 15 minutes. It was a grey, 4 story building, with at least 8 other cars in various locations around the parking lot. The front door had a small walkway with a crimson awning stretching over the top, providing a miniscule but refreshing amount of shade. They walked through the door, and found an elevator to the right. They pressed the button and only had to wait a few seconds for the carriage to slide into place. They stepped into the cramped area. Dean pressed the button with a 4, and the elevator swung upwards, compressing their bodies.

 _'Must not remember elevator fics, must not remember elevator fics'_ Amy thought desperately. She could feel her cheeks blushing slightly, and hoped nobody else noticed. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and could feel the brothers’ eyes on her. Much to her relief, the doors opened and they stepped out into a carpeted corridor.

“What’s her room number?” Amy asked, searching the various doors for signs of a crime scene.

“419.” Sam replied, motioning to a door with yellow crime scene tape crossed over a door in the hallway. Together they walked to 419, Dean ripping the tape down as Sam looked for possible witnesses in the hallway.

“Mr. Benson is living with his mother and the police are done with the place, so we should be interrupted.” Dean said. They opened the door. Inside, it seemed relatively normal, except for the indicators and crime scene tape decorating the dwelling. The unfortunately bright shade of yellow clashes unattractively with the color of the apartment, a calming yet chic color scheme of white and navy. Stylish but not expensive furniture was placed in the dining room, kitchen and bedroom, and shaggy carpeting. Pictures of happy moments once adorned the walls and tables, but are now gone; a birthday party in a box, a wedding photo in a stack on the floor. The pictures have been stripped from the walls and tables by the police, leaving patches of wallpaper less faded than the rest. This residence was filled with memories and life, but it has been rid it of that by the supernatural. There will no longer be the happy wedding anniversaries and birthdays which were present not so long ago. The creature took Mable’s future, but the police took her past.

The Winchesters walk to where the yellow seems most highly concentrated, which happens to be the dining room. Amy follows, and if she feels any emotion, it is hidden from her face. She carriers her body like a marionette, with her subconscious pulling the strings. She didn’t expect this. She didn’t think Mable, a victim, would have such a full life. She didn’t think there would be so much evidence of a happy life. Mable lived with an immense accumulation of emotion and thoughts, filled with meaningless inside jokes and thoughts that terrified her and left her thinking deep into the night. She had a constant flow of thoughts and emotion, which was brutally ended. She is dead now; gone, ceased, no more. She simply is not. She was vaguely aware that the Winchesters were discussing something, and she focused on their voices. She returned herself to the present as one might emerge from water to air.

“I vote we split up, you take the dining room, I’ll take the bedroom and she can take the kitchen.” Dean said to Sam. He nodded.

“Sounds good to me.” Amy said, attempting to shake off any shakiness her voice might have. They all turned their separate ways, Sam to the dining room, Dean to the bedroom, and Amy to the kitchen. She stepped into the tiled room, and realized she had no idea what to do.

“Um… what am I looking for again?” She asked. Sam poked his head in, and replied.

“Basically anything strange: sigils, notes, something that should be there but isn’t, the usual.”

“Got it.” She said, turning to the sink. As good a place as any to start. She crouched so she was eye level with the doors that gave access to the space below the sink. She opened them, revealing a pipe, various cleaning products, and a yellow bucket. She removed the bucket, which was under the pipe. She glanced down at it before putting it down next to her. She did a double take. In the bottom of the bucket were a few drops of a black liquid. She dipped her finger in it, and found that it was still wet and about the thickness of maple syrup. She studied the pipe and found a small leak. The liquid was coming from there. She straightened up, and tested the knobs to the sink. Instantly, liquid ran from the pipe, but where there should have been water, the black goo flowed freely.

“Hey guys? Pretty sure this isn’t normal…” She called, and a few seconds later both brothers walked in next to her. They all stared at the sink for a moment, before Sam shut off the tap.

“I thought the police shut off water?” Amy questioned, hoping against hope there was a logical explanation other than something paranormal. Her efforts were to no avail.

“They did.” Sam said apologetically. He touched the accumulating liquid in the bottom of the sink, and raised his finger.

“Ectoplasm.” He said after studying it for a second.

“It’s really fresh too…” He continued. A crash resonated around the room. Dean was the first to connect the dots.

“We’re not alone.”


End file.
